Dead World
by Ashtrees
Summary: The world changes when Sherlock become depressed. Who will bring him back to life?


**Dead World**

I have lost all motivation. All I can do is lie on the sofa staring at the ceiling. Nothing else. Even my thoughts have become short and blunt. Not being able to think hurts me the most.

I need the toilet. My bladder has been aching for the past ten minutes. It takes a lot of effort but I finally get up. A glance out of the window confirms what I already know - that the world has died along with my mind.

It always happens whenever I go through a low mood. Somehow my mind is connected to the outside world. I can't explain it, but that never seems to bother me once I have reached this stage. I no longer care about the whys and wherefore of life. I have tried to figure it out while I am well, but can come up with no concrete answers. And the only person who seems to be aware of any change is Mycroft. It doesn't surprise me that he is the only one who notices. We don't talk about it, just hope that it won't last long.

It is the height of summer, but now everything had been washed over in grey. The sky is bleak and the trees are without leaves, their trunks slowly rotting away. Large rain drops splatter against the window pane. From far away I can hear the steady toll of a sombre bell. The people down in the street below appear to be walking in time to its ringing like a relentless, eternal march of the almost dead, heads down as they clutch their briefcases and umbrellas and bags as they march to work.

_Dong…_left foot forward…_Dong_….right foot forward…_Dong_…left again…_Dong_…right again…

A loud _wack_ makes me flinch as a dark shadow smashes into the window before plummeting to the ground. It is an unfortunate crow who had failed to perceive the glass pane. It struggles feebly on the pavement for a moment. Then it coughs up some blood and goes still, it's eye left wide open.

I move away from the horrible scene. I am filled the overwhelming feeling of dread. The flat too has been leached of all colour, comfort and life. It is no longer reassuring.

I return from the toilet and fall back onto the sofa, pulling my duvet over my head. It muffles the sound of the unyielding bell, but doesn't block it out completely. I wish this pain would go away, or at least go into for remission for a short while. I remember my grandfather once telling me about migraines: the best you can do is to lie in a dark room and stay as still as possible to minimise the pain. I am locked still on the sofa. The less I think the less it hurts. But, I can't stop thinking completely. It is my fault that the world has died, it and everything in it. I wish I could just stop. Maybe for ever.

The door swings open and John and Mary enter. They are the only two left alive in this bleak world. They have colour and warmth. The scent of fresh air clings lightly to their clothes. Mary is wearing one of her quirky shirts again - the blue one with the little thumb-ups dotted all over it. The blue looks stunning against the greyness of the flat. Mary catches me staring and flashes me a quick smile. I realize that she is wearing it for me. That is exactly the kind of careful consideration that I have come to expect from John's wife. Her observant nature frightens me sometimes. She notices more about me than John does.

I don't know why they haven't been dragged down by my mood. They will if they stay too long. That really would kill me.

"Go away," I hear myself say. But, I am ignored.

Mary makes the tea while John opens the windows, complaining that it is too nice a day for them to be shut. I close my eyes as John inadvertently allows more of the bleakness in. He and Mary are completely unaffected by it and unaware of it. I know that I should push them away before I hurt them. But, a larger part of me wants to cling onto them with all my remaining strength.

It is while John is running a bath for me and while Mary is kneeling by the sofa and holding my hand, telling me repeatedly that I will get better, that I start to cry. It started with a single tear and then they were pouring down my face.

Mary wraps her arms around me, rocking me and making soothing noises. She is wonderfully warm. This isn't what I wanted. The last of my strength has completely crumbled. There is nothing left. Maybe I will just fade away into nothingness.

But, when I finally pull away from Mary's embrace I realize that something is missing - the bell has stopped ringing. I slump back against the cushions, closing my eyes, feeling….I'm not sure what. But, I am feeling something and that is a step forward.

I can't bring the world back to life by my own strength. I have to rely on my friends and I'm not sure if I like that.

"You don't have to do this alone," I hear John's voice say, back from the bathroom. "You can't and we won't let you try."

"Why?"

"Because you're my friend. My best friend. And on my wedding day you said that I was the wisest human being you know, so you should trust me when I tell you that you will get through this, Sherlock."

I open my eyes and stare at the sincerity in John's eyes, looking so bright amongst all the aching dreariness. He is the most reliable and trustworthy man I have ever had the good fortune to meet and call a friend. He has never let me down before. Why would now be any different?

Faint colours swirl like mist made of rainbows around the flat. Life is being stirred up by John and Mary's love. I breathe in deeply, taking as much as I can. It is like being able to breathe in fresh spring air after suffering a long-lasting cold.

"Sherlock?"

I open my eyes. "I trust you," I hear myself say.


End file.
